


M is for Master

by Tifer14



Series: Alphabet Challenge [13]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU, Hotch is a lawyer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tifer14/pseuds/Tifer14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer Reid is looking for a Dom. He gets a lot more in the shape of Aaron Hotchner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vsilus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vsilus/gifts).



> Spoilers for 3x12 (Jesus, that was seven seasons ago so if you haven't seen it...)
> 
> I never own anything but you know that.

Spencer looked nervously around the small room. He didn’t usually go to clubs, except when Morgan dragged him kicking and screaming, but The Castle was not somewhere that would be on Morgan’s radar and, anyway, he wasn’t even in the actual club. He was downstairs. “Guess that means I’m in the dungeon,” he muttered to himself but, even as he said it, realised that was probably supposed to be the joke. Looking around the room, it certainly fit. The decor was primarily and unsurprisingly black and red and the walls were adorned with a variety of whips, chains, paddles and cuffs. A St. Andrew’s Cross hung on one wall while there was a heavy wooden chair against the opposite wall. Spencer had found the club quite accidentally when he was out walking one night, trying to stave off the temptation to find his dealer again. The receptionist had been incredibly helpful, when he’d expressed an interest in being a sub. She explained that they could provide a matchmaking service and set him up with a suitable Dom if he just filled out this questionnaire. Spencer had nearly not come despite the way his stomach had flipped with nervous excitement when she had called saying that there was a Dom looking to play tonight. Btu here he was. Spencer looked at the seemingly incongruous red velvet chaise lounge and was just contemplating taking a seat when he heard a noise in the corridor.

 

Spencer just managed to stop himself from jumping as the door swung open. “Good evening,” the dark voice rumbled sensually from the man in front of him and Spencer fiercely reminded himself that he wasn’t here for sex. “I apologise for being late. The Beltway is always a nightmare.” Spencer just nodded but then the man extended a hand.

 

“Oh, I, um, I don’t really shake hands,” Spencer muttered and offered his embarrassing wave. The man just nodded brusquely.

 

“You do realise that I will be touching you,” he folded his arms across his chest and the suit pulled just enough at the arms to show the vaguest hint of well-defined biceps. Truth be told, the man in front of him was not what he had expected at all. He’d imagined at least one item of leather clothing but the man in front of him was all Armani and Windsor knots. His dark hair was artfully styled but for the cowlick that fell forward across his forehead and gave a certain boyish charm despite the deep frown lines inscribed into his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. He looked like a lawyer. Hell, this was DC, he probably was a lawyer, or a politician but he looked too severe to be in politics.

 

“Yes, of course, um, yes. That’s fine,” Spencer offered weakly and self-consciously attempted to adjust his own crooked tie knot. The man seemed to notice and a smirk quirked at his mouth with the promise of dimples if Spencer could ever get him to truly smile.

 

“Shall we sit?” Tall, dark and handsome gestured to the red settee and Spencer settled himself, crossing and uncrossing his legs. The other man did not join him but instead pulled the heavy wooden chair over to sit in front of Spencer and spread his legs in a textbook dominant position. Spencer would have said it was clichéd but it seemed entirely natural. This man was an alpha male amongst alpha males and Spencer’s throat suddenly felt very dry. “We have a great deal to discuss.” Spencer nodded.

 

“So let’s cut to the chase. In our sessions, you may call me Sir, or Master. That choice is yours. However, I will choose what I call you. I will choose what we do in our sessions. Of course, you always have your safe words which I will respect without question and without repercussions. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good. You’re a fast learner. What are your hard limits?”

 

“No blindfolds, no touching my feet, no injections, no metal handcuffs, no marks that cannot be hidden by a shirt, no humiliation, Sir.”

 

“Good, excellent. What are you hoping to gain from our sessions?”

 

Spencer swallowed heavily, he wasn’t about to divulge the whole story and his mind searched for a concise answer. “I have never done this before,” honesty was a good place to start, “but I have read extensively about the culture,” the man probably couldn’t imagine quite how extensively, “I’ve had issues with addiction in the past. They’re behind me. I’m clean but I crave the feeling of escape and would like to experience the ‘sub-space’”. Spencer held his breath, expecting the man to leave but he just nodded. “Sir,” Spencer belatedly finished and the man beamed. Oh, the dimples.

 

“Now tell me your safe words.” The man’s tone was already assuming a sharper edge of command and Spencer found himself sitting up in his seat.

 

“Tardute to slow and Siste to stop, Sir.”

 

A slow smile spread over the Dom’s face and Spencer was pleasantly surprised that the dark haired man understood Latin, probably a lawyer. “Very good, very clever. Now, I just need a name for you.” Spencer fidgeted under the levelled stare that the man gave him until he read displeasure in his deepening frown and stilled his movements. “I will call you Absalom.” The surprise must have shown on Spencer’s face but the man just offered him a short smile before turning away and striding towards the assorted implements on the wall. The man knew Latin. He must have come from a bible-thumping family to pull that Biblical reference out. Absalom, the rebellious son, who had his hair cut once a year, which wasn’t too far from the truth for himself he realised. Still, Absalom had been hung by his hair when it got caught in a tree. What did that say about Spencer’s future at the hands of this Dom?

 

Spencer was brought out of his reverie by the man’s deep, commanding voice: “We’ll start slowly, today is our first session after all. Remove your shirt.” Spencer fingers were shaking as he fiddled with the small buttons on his shirt. “Acknowledge my command, Absalom.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer reached to belatedly undo his tie.

 

“No. Leave the tie,” the man replied and ran a soft leather belt over his hands, clearly relishing in the material’s slide over his palms. Spencer did not think he would be so gentle once he was brandishing it against Spencer’s back. Once Spencer had removed his shirt, his tie hanging somewhat foolishly, he felt, around his neck, the man commanded him to kneel in the centre of the room. The concrete was brutally hand under his knees and Spencer fought the urge to shift.

 

“You will count each strike. I will strike you five times. Understood?” The Dom was standing in front of Spencer, legs spread wide, his well tailored trousers clinging to his muscled thighs. Clearly he was a cyclist with those thighs. He’d also shed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to reveal toned forearms covered in thick black hair. Spencer swallowed thickly at the waves of testosterone and sheer power that rolled off this man and felt somewhat ashamed of his own waif like physique.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Repeat your safe words to me so I can be sure you remember them.”

 

Spencer almost rolled his eyes at the thought of him forgetting something but he restrained himself, sensing that the Dom wouldn’t appreciate that. There would be time for belligerence later, if he felt the Dom was holding back. “Tardute to slow, Sir. Siste to stop, Sir.”

 

“Good,” Spencer tensed all his muscles, waiting for the sharp bite of the belt but instead he felt the leather slide down his back, almost a caress. “No handcuffs. Do you object to rope?”

 

“No, Sir.” Spencer tried to look behind him, slightly confused as to what the holdup was. Probably it was all a domination game but it was unnerving and as much as it annoyed Spencer because he knew that was the point, he also knew that it was working.

 

“Good. I’d like to tie you up. I’d like to see your body striped with red rope. See you suspended from the ceiling. I’d like to see your shoulders straining.”

 

The only warning Spencer had was a slight whistle of air before the belt stung sharply across his shoulders. No. The Dom was not holding back. “One,” Spencer managed to mutter though gritted teeth.

 

“Louder, Absalom.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” There was that whistle again and a parallel stripe was left about half an inch below the previous mark. It was precise. It was bitingly painfully. It was deeply erotic. “Two,” Spencer spoke clearly, hands clenched in the fabric of his suddenly tented trousers.

 

“Very good,” the Dom murmured and raised his hand again. This boy was delightfully surprising. He was compliant, respectful, clearly intelligent and utterly beautiful. The third red stripe across his back blossomed under the belt and still the boy spoke clearly. “Wonderful,” Hotch couldn’t stop the praise falling from his lips. Yes, this one had great potential. He raised his arm again.

 

“Four,” the pain was increasing but Spencer could feel himself detaching from it. He felt free. His fingers unclenched and his body sang with delight as his cock pulsed in his pants.

 

“Five,” he cried out his release, unashamed and unrepentant. He felt strong arms lifting him towards the sofa but he could do nothing to help or hinder.

 

“You have done wonderfully today, Absalom,” the Dom rubbed a soothing balm over the raised, red skin. Spencer was pliant under his hands, sprawled across the couch all long limbs at fluid angles. “I hope that we will meet again.”

 

“Me too, Sir,” Spencer whispered. He was floating. It was beyond freeing and didn’t even come at the end of a needle. Part of him knew that it was only temporary, that all too soon he would come back down to Earth and find his trousers sticky and his back stinging but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Very well. I will leave you my card. Call me and we will arrange another meeting.” One final sweep of broad hands and Spencer was left alone on the sofa. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, relishing the feeling being un-tethered from his body, his mind utterly free but also utterly silent. When he came around there was a bottle of water, unopened, on the floor next to the sofa and a business card underneath it. Spencer ran the expensive cardstock through his fingers. It read, in plain, unadorned black:

Aaron Hotchner

Attorney at Law

On the opposite side were office and cell phone numbers. Spencer’s heart was somewhat in his throat at the thought of calling to arrange another session but he knew he would. Spencer was, at heart, an addict and Aaron Hotchner was apparently a powerful drug.

 

It took a week before Spencer worked up the courage, or more accurately developed enough of a painful craving to give Aaron Hotchner a call. “Hotchner,” came the crisp voice and Spencer tried to mask his involuntary shudder even though he was alone cocooned in the comfortable confines of his favourite armchair.

 

“Hello, Sir,” Spencer began uncertainly, realising that he knew the Dom’s name but the Dom was unaware of his. “This is—Absalom?” He hated the questioning tone in his voice but the Dom just chuckled in response.

 

“I was rather concerned that I wasn’t going to hear from you again. I did so enjoy our first session. Next time, I will have to order you to call me,” Spencer smiled at the warm yet commanding tone.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Hotch settled himself into his own armchair, a glass of Scotch in one hand and internally breathed a sigh of relief that his beautiful Absalom had called. It made no sense that he was feeling so attached after one session and yet he did. He allowed the silence to grow between them and strained to hear the younger man’s uncomfortable shifting and swallowing. Finally, “May I see you again, Sir?”

 

“You may. Tomorrow evening at the same time? I will book the room.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

 

“You’re welcome, Absalom.” Hotch hung up the phone with a grin, placing his Scotch on the side table, he dialled the Castle and reserved the same room while unbuttoning his slacks. Sometimes, being ambidextrous was such a useful skill to have. By the time he was finished the call, he had stroked his cock to the full hardness. Absalom’s quivering voice and submissive tones had almost brought him the whole way there anyway. Shifting his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh, he ran his palm over his cock, spreading the pre-come that slid down the shaft. Cupping his balls, he started jerking off with brutal efficiency to the image of Absalom on his knees, back striped with red marks, head thrown back as he came without being touched. Beautiful. Hotch groaned out his own orgasm and settled himself back into his armchair. Wiping his hand on his ruined slacks, he reached for his Scotch and started planning the following evening.

 

“Good evening, Absalom,” Hotch couldn’t help but grin at the man kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Your position pleases me.” He noticed Spencer’s chest puff up in pride but the young man did not move from his prone position on the floor.

 

“I’m glad you called,” Hotch purred, walking around Spencer while removing his jacket and pulling his tie off. He draped them both over the arm of the sofa before rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I’ve been looking forward to playing with you again. Our last session went far too quickly. Let’s slow it down a bit for this one, yes?”

 

“Yes, Sir”

 

“Good. Remove your shirt and tie, Absalom.” Spencer’s fingers started on his tie and Hotch’s tone sharpened. “Acknowledge my command.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir” Spencer paused and then resumed pulling his tie free from his collar. Once the young man was naked to the waist, Hotch had him stand.

 

“Ropes today, Absalom. Lie back on the bench, face up.” He gestured to a long wooden bench with four legs that he’d pulled away from the wall. Spencer lay down and Hotch began securing his arms with intricate knots to the legs. He placed a loop of rope in Spencer’s right hand. “If you pull on this the knots will loosen and you can free this arm. If you say your safe word, I will release you instantly.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I trust you, Sir.” Spencer’s wide eyes looked up into Aaron’s and he felt his heart stutter. He suppressed the smile. Now was not the time but perhaps, never mind. Pushing any other thoughts from his mind he turned to the long red taper that he had lit.

 

“It’s good you are so hairless, Absalom,” he commented, running his hand over Spencer’s smooth chest. “Wax in chest hair is so unattractive.” He tipped the candle and Spencer hissed slightly as the hot wax dripped onto his skin. Over and over, Hotch allowed the wax to cool before peeling it off with his nails and leaving angry red marks marring Spencer’s skin. Spencer watched him, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Hotch wanted to lean over and lick his way into that mouth, pull the young man’s hair and watch his eyes roll back but this wasn’t about sex, at least not yet. Maybe one day it would be.

 

Next, he reached for the violet wand he had plugged in earlier. “Do you know what this is, Absalom?”

 

Spencer shook his head, “No, Sir,” he choked out. His eyes already slightly unfocused as he watched Hotch run one finger over the glass tube a purple spark jumped out and kept contact with Hotch’s finger.

 

“This will pass a low voltage electric current through wherever I place it. I assure you it’s quite pleasurable.” Hotch held the device slightly away from Spencer’s skin and watched the spark jump, the young man twitched in his bindings in response. “Do you like it?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer groaned at a long pass over his lean belly, stomach muscles twitching and contracting.

 

“Thank me, Absalom.”

 

“Thank you, Sir, thank you.” Hotch allowed a lopsided smile to quirk at the corner of his mouth as he continued running the current over Spencer’s chest, focusing on his delightfully responsive nipples and listening to the murmured thanks spilling from Spencer’s lips.

 

At the end of the session, Hotch once again led Spencer to the sofa and held him as he shivered from his orgasm. Once the young man had drifted off into a peaceful sleep, Hotch stood up from the sofa, collected his jacket and tie, and moved to the door. Spencer didn’t seem to even notice, his breaths were even as he splayed across the sofa on his stomach. Hotch placed a bottle of water within reach before closing the door behind him. Leaning against the door for a moment he allowed himself to positively grin. The boy was perfect. Utterly perfect. The old scars dotting his inner elbows were worrying but also a testament to his strength. It was ridiculous but he could even imagine taking him out for dinner, having a relationship beyond the scenes. He shook himself at that thought; he didn’t even know his name. He didn’t know what he did for a living, though he would guess that he was an academic from his mode of dress. It didn’t matter. He’d take these scenes without hesitation. The boy was the best sub he’d had so far and they’d only met twice. Flicking his collar up, he started knotting his tie. He end felt strangely stiff and heavy. Looking inside the folded silk he found a business card.

SSA Dr. Spencer Reid

Behavioural Analysis Unit, FBI

On the back were a cell phone number and an extension number. Beside them Spencer had written in black marker: and Magician. Hotch couldn’t contain the laugh as he pocketed the card and moved towards the stairs. So, his Absalom was called Spencer and he worked for the BAU. Fascinating. Honestly, he was perfect.

 

Their sessions continued at first weekly, as long as Spencer’s schedule allowed, and then twice a week. Spencer was fascinated with how seemingly endlessly inventive Hotch was. They experimented more with light electric shocks, different belts and whips, but there was never any overt sexual contact between them. Certainly, Spencer came nearly every time and he could see Aaron’s obvious arousal but the older man never initiated anything. He never even had Spencer strip off his boxers. It was disappointing but Spencer expected no less. He was probably worried about HIV or other STIs but Spencer had been tested. He knew he was okay. Hell, a man like Aaron Hotchner would never see a man like him as a partner. The arousal was simply due to the situation as opposed to any mutual attraction. It was on this thought process that he would blame his open mouthed shock at the start of their next session.

 

“I would like to ask you something, Spencer, would you stand?” Hotch began, shifting slightly uncomfortably and Spencer was thrown by the signs of nervousness in the unflappable Dom. “I’m asking you before our session so that you will have a clear head. Whatever your answer, I will not allow it to affect our current relationship.” Spencer nodded slowly; totally unsure about what was coming next. Hotch cleared his throat, “I was wondering if you would like to go for coffee with me, sometime.”

 

Spencer stood silently for a moment while Hotch looked everywhere except at the young man in front of him. Finally he managed to squeak out, “Are you asking me on a date?” and was rewarded with Hotch blushing, actually blushing.

 

“Yes,” the older man confirmed. “I understand if you are not interested.”

 

“I’m interested,” Spencer quickly interrupted and finally Hotch looked at him with a smile.

 

“Good, that’s good. Ok, so um, I’ll call you.”

 

“Yes, ok.” Another slightly awkward silence descended. “So, are we still—“ Spencer broke off and gestured to the room.

 

“Oh yes,” Hotch grin turned shark-like, all teeth, and he took a predatory step forwards. “Strip, Absalom.” Spencer’s fingers were flicking open buttons before his brain managed to catch up with the sudden change. The Dom’s entire posture had changed. He stood straighter, seeming taller, his shoulders were squared and his muscles tensed. His hands were loosely curled at his sides and his frame seemed to vibrate with barely constrained violence. Once Spencer was in just his boxers in front of him, he allowed his eyes to wander his frame. “I thought we would use the cross today,” Hotch gestured to the St. Andrew’s cross on the wall. “And the whip.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer choked out.

 

In the end Hotch chickened out a bit, which was ridiculous since Spencer had already agreed to the date but still, he sent a text: Dinner tonight? AH. And he waited. It wasn’t until four hours later that he received a reply: Sorry, I’m in Wisconsin. Rain check? SR. The relief that bubbled in Hotch was tangible and he shot off: Of course.

 

Three days later his phone rang as he was leaving the office. “Hotchner.”

 

“Hi, it’s Abs—Spencer,” the younger man corrected. “We’ve just landed and I wanted to see about that rain check.”

 

“Spencer,” Hotch breathed, a smile broadening his face and earning him a shocked look from his secretary. He nodded good night and headed for his car. “I have no plans for tonight but I guess you’re exhausted.”

 

“Well, yes, but we’re on down time for four days so, what about tomorrow.”

 

“Sounds great. I’ll pick you up at seven. Text me your address.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I mean, yes. Aaron? See you tomorrow,” Spencer squeaked and hung up. Laughing slightly, Hotch threw his briefcase into the back seat before sliding behind the wheel. It would take a bit of getting used to, balancing the scenes with a relationship but he was looking forward to it.

 

The date never happened. The exhausted team was called back in for a case of two missing girls in Chula Vista, California. Hotch received a hurried text from Reid and then silence for four days. His looked at his phone in surprise when it buzzed on his home desk on Saturday afternoon but grinned when he saw Spencer’s name.

 

“Hotchner.”

 

“Sir—sir—“ Spencer’s voice shook on that one word.

 

“Spencer?” Hotch’s voice was softer than Spencer had ever heard it and he whimpered softly in response. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I—I made a mistake, Sir. There’s no one else I could call. Please, sir, I’m so sorry.”

 

“What did you do?” There was the tone Spencer was more familiar with, sharp, reverberating with barely controlled anger. It set his entire frame shaking and he began to cry softly. “Are you high?” Hotch didn’t even need the small noise of assent for his blood to run cold. He was so utterly furious with his Spencer and yet terrified beyond words at the same time. “Where are you? I’ll come get you,” he was already half-way out the door, juggling his keys and his phone while he pulled on his sweater. Spencer whispered an address to him and Hotch swore softly, that was definitely not an area of town he would want to be in ever. “Stay on the line. Talk to me while I drive,” he fought to keep the bark of command in his voice when inside he felt like he was breaking down. How could his Spencer have done this? They’d been so close, so close to having a relationship beyond the scenes. He’d been sure that he’d finally found a partner, not just a playmate, and now this.

 

Hotch sped through the near empty streets towards the address. Spencer was reciting poetry on the other end of the phone but his voice seemed to be growing fainter, his breathing more laboured. Hotch pushed down on the gas pedal and the SUV lurched in response. When he finally reached the dilapidated building, he jumped out the car to find Spencer sprawled on the cold concrete sidewalk, a brick wall to his back. Hotch’s heart was in his throat when the young man didn’t respond to his name. Shaking him hard enough that his head bounced against the wall, he was rewarded with a groan and feeble hands trying to push him off.

 

“Spencer, it’s Aaron,” he murmured softly and the protests stopped. “Come on. Let’s get you in the car.” He was glad Spencer didn’t open his eyes, didn’t see the tears tracking slowly down Aaron’s cheeks. He drove home at a more moderate pace, leaning over every so often to check Spencer was still breathing. Once they reached his apartment, he managed to carry Spencer bridal style into the elevator and through his door without anyone seeing them. Finally, he laid Spencer down on the bathroom floor, anticipating nausea, but the young man seemed to suddenly come to. Bony fingers clutched at Aaron’s sweater as Spencer’s eyes shot open. Hazily, he watched Spencer take in the room before focusing on Aaron and starting to shake. His fingers creaked open and he allowed Aaron to stand before following him up, his legs weak like a newborn colt.

 

“I—I am so sorry, Sir. Please, I’ll do anything for you. Please,” Spencer started haphazardly stripping, fingers fumbling over shirt buttons before giving up and moving to tug on his belt. “I can make this bother up to you. I can. You can do anything you want to me. I have condoms.” Spencer’s left hand dug through his pockets as his right continued to pull at his buttons, rake his hair, the boy in front of him was a blur of uncoordinated movement. Cold fury curled in Aaron’s chest. This wasn’t Spencer. This wasn’t Absalom. He didn’t know this person. He didn’t want to know this person. All the fear and panic of the ordeal curled into impossible rage.

 

“Stop.” Spencer froze at that word and the bile in Hotch’s tone.

 

“S—sir?” Spencer suddenly looked afraid and Hotch’s stomach rolled viciously but his anger was beyond containment.

 

“Why the hell would I want to fuck a scrawny little junkie like you? You promised me you were clean. You lied to me.” Hotch practically spit his words at the broken man who crumpled in front of him and curled back in on himself on the floor. “You disgust me. You don’t even deserve to be my sub and you think I’d want to put my dick in you? Go shower. You stink.” He threw a towel at Spencer before storming out the bathroom, slamming the door so hard that the mirror reverberated on the wall, threatening to shatter into a thousand pieces. Spencer just lay there, shaking, sweat pouring off him as he came down from the bad trip, desperate to take back the last twenty four hours, or to at least forget them, but, even in his drug-addled state, he recognized the futility of either of those wishes. It was just, seeing that boy shot in front of him was too much. The echoing ‘tomorrow’ wouldn’t stop spinning in his brain. He just wanted it to stop. He shouldn’t have called Aaron, it was a total mistake, but addicts rarely made logical decisions and he would always be an addict. One wasn’t cured of addiction. He’d just simply learned to handle it, until tonight.

 

He had no idea how long he lay on the floor, shaking and crying. Tears ran into his mouth and he choked on the mucus flowing from his nose but couldn’t get his protesting muscles to move enough to even wipe his nose. Pathetic. He was beyond contempt and what had he been thinking calling Aaron? Finally, he managed to pull himself off the floor. With shaking fingers, he finished unbuttoning his shirt, his open slacks sliding down his legs. The warm water felt so good cascading over his body and the shower gel smelled of Aaron, comfort, but his mind wouldn’t stop berating him for his stupidity. He’d ruined everything for the chance of forgetting and that hadn’t even worked. In between the reels of Aaron’s furious, disgusted face, he kept seeing the bloodied hole, which was all that remained of the boy’s face, and a smoking shotgun barrel.

 

When he stepped out the shower, he found that his clothes had been replaced by a threadbare t-shirt and some soft pyjama trousers. Not sure what exactly to make of it, he pulled them on and crept out of the bathroom. The hallway was dark but there was soft light spilling from a room at the opposite end. Unsteadily, he made his way into what proved to be the kitchen. He expected to see Aaron pacing furiously but instead the man was uncharacteristically slumped at the kitchen table, staring into the middle distance. The only acknowledgement he gave of Spencer’s entrance was to push a mug of tea in his direction. Spencer took a seat and glanced over at the clock on the oven. It was four in the morning. He had no idea how long he had spent on the bathroom floor or even when he called Aaron but the older man looked beyond exhausted.

 

Minutes passed as Spencer fidgeted and shook. Finally Aaron spoke, “Do you have any idea what it was like for me to drive out there this afternoon?”

 

Spencer flinched at the seething anger in the quiet question. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have inconvenienced you.”

 

“Inconvenienced me?” Aaron finally turned his eyes to Spencer, the pupils large in the dim lighting which they caught and reflected, sparking like flint. “You think you inconvenienced me.”

 

“I mean it’s not your problem. I shouldn’t have called you.”

 

“Who would you have called instead?” Spencer shifted uncomfortably. There was no one else. He couldn’t call any of his colleagues without risking his job. He didn’t have any friends. His mom sure as hell couldn’t help. Aaron sighed heavily, his shoulder sagging again. “I’m not upset that you turned to me, Spencer, or that I had to drive for a couple of hours. I’m upset that for the whole drive over I was panicking that you would be dead by the time I arrived. I’m upset that you did this to yourself again when you said that you,” the older man’s voice broke and Spencer’s head shot up, terrified that his Dom was about to start crying in front of him but Aaron simply ran a hand over his face and shuddered. “I don’t think I can do this.”

 

“Do what, Sir?” The epithet came out automatically but apparently it was the wrong thing to do. All traces of weakness were instantly wiped away, Aaron’s back straightened, his eyes steely and his jaws tight.

 

“Don’t call me that, now. You’re making a mockery of it.”

 

Spencer backpedalled frantically, “I—I’m not, Sir. I—I mean it.”

 

“You remember what I first said to you? I said you could call me Sir or Master.”

 

Spencer nodded frantically. “Yes, Master?” he tried hopefully. Hotch’s hand shot out and gripped his elbow painfully, nails digging into the fresh track marks as he pulled Spencer’s arm across the table.

 

“I’m not your master,” he spit out and tightened his grip further until Spencer whimpered and blood bubbled slowly to the surface, “This is your master.” Aaron flung Spencer’s arm back to him and Spencer cradled it to himself, curling in as much as he could in the hard backed chair. Aaron stood so swiftly that his own chair clattered to the floor and began pacing like a caged lion but the flare of anger couldn’t be sustained beyond his exhaustion and Aaron’s pacing slowed.

 

“I need to sleep,” Aaron concluded. “The couch is made up for you. Sleep.”

 

“I—I can go,” Spencer offered.

 

“Just do as I say,” Hotch muttered and stalked out of the kitchen. Spencer dragged himself into the living room, where the couch had been converted into a makeshift bed. He couldn’t imagine sleep but once he was cocooned in blankets that smelled of Aaron, a soft pillow beneath his head, he drifted off quickly, unaware of the dark figure watching him from the doorway. Hotch sighed. It was true that he couldn’t do this but, damn it, despite everything he still wanted to. If he was a different man he would believe that they were soul mates. It didn’t matter what it was, something in Spencer Reid called to Aaron Hotchner. He just had to find a way to make it scream louder than the drugs. Aaron retired to his own bedroom where he stared exhaustedly at the ceiling before falling into a fitful doze.

 

It was early-afternoon before he rose. He found Spencer cross-legged on the couch with what looked like half the contents of his bookshelves in front of him. Spencer’s eyes widened and he stuttered an apology before promising to put the books that he’d read away.

 

“It’s fine, Spencer. You really read all of these? How long have you been up?”

 

“A few hours,” Spencer shrugged and shifted nervously, combing his hair back behind his ears. Hotch sighed heavily.

 

“I am so lost, Spencer,” he finally admitted. “I thought we had something but—“

 

“I know,” Spencer mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“What are you sorry for, though?” Aaron prodded.

 

“I’m sorry for not calling you before I used,” Spencer’s answer was quick; he’d clearly been doing some thinking with his reading.

 

Hotch nodded slowly and silence fell between them again until Hotch blurted out “Why?”

 

“Why didn’t I call you?”

 

“No, yes, as well but why did you use again? What happened?”

 

“Oh, ah,” Spencer shifted. Hotch had noticed that Spencer avoided talking about his work. “A case ended badly,” he finally concluded.

 

“Spencer, I’m a federal prosecutor. I don’t need you to protect me.”

 

“I know. I, ah, I don’t like talking about it.”

 

“Maybe that’s part of the problem. You keep it all in that big head of yours until something has to give.”

 

“Maybe,” Spencer mumbled and Hotch thought that was the end of it until the young man let out a heart-wrenching sigh, “There was a father with a shotgun, he was from witness protection but that isn’t important, isn’t related. His daughter and her friend got into some trouble. The friend died. Raped. Murdered. The father found the killer before we did. It was in a school bathroom. I said all the right things. I tried to talk him down. But, his daughter, Jesus, his daughter was begging him to kill the boy. He was just a kid, barely out of high school and I know he did terrible things but he didn’t deserve to go out via shotgun to the face. I mean, God, I’ve seen terrible things. But the blood, brain matter.” He trailed off, his whole body shaking. Hotch moved to the sofa, pulling Spencer into his arms and held him as he fell apart, pressing kisses to his hair and rubbing soothing circles through the thin cotton T-shirt.

 

“You know this wasn’t your fault,” he finally offered.

 

“I was hoping it was my turn to save one,” Spencer mumbled.

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Hotch murmured, pulling back and staring into Reid’s eyes.

 

“It should,” Spencer dropped his gaze, hands toying with Hotch’s fingers. Hotch’s brain kept telling him to take a step back but his body wouldn’t listen as he threaded his fingers with Reid’s. “Can I kiss you?” Spencer whispered.

 

“Spencer,” Hotch breathed, attempting to gain some control of the situation, to rally his anger again just for a moment but instead a desperate groan escaped his throat as Spencer looked up from underneath ridiculously long lashes and suddenly his hands were in Spencer’s hair and his lips were pressed hard against the younger man’s in a bruising kiss. Close mouthed, he pushed against the Spencer’s full lips with angry desperation licking and biting his way into his mouth. “We shouldn’t,” he murmured finally pulling away to catch his breath before brushing their lips together more softly, still leaning into Spencer, one hand making its way under the thin T-shirt that was now a mix of their scents, that thought made him growl.

 

“I know,” Spencer gasped, arching his neck as Hotch started biting and sucking on his neck. “Oh God, please.”

 

The broken syllables shattered Hotch’s resolve and he roughly pulled Spencer’s shirt up and over his head exposing creamy expanses of pale skin. He’d seen it so many times in scenes but this was different. He ran his hands reverently over Spencer’s skin but paused as his eyes lighted on the fresh track marks.

 

“It was a new needle,” Spencer pleaded. “And we can use condoms.”

 

Hotch leaned his forehead against Spencer’s and the young man shifted, slotting their bodies together. “This is a terrible idea,” Hotch confirmed but his hips were shifting in gentle undulations against Spencer. “I’m still angry at you.”

 

“I know. You should be,” Spencer shifted again and their cocks slid against one another through thin pyjama pants.

 

“Jesus, Spencer, you could have died,” Hotch choked out and buried his face in Spencer’s neck.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

Hotch pulled his face back, not caring about his red-rimmed eyes. “This shouldn’t be like this. I barely know you. I barely even know Absalom but, fuck—“ he had no way to finish that sentence. Spencer just nodded and ran his fingers through his short-cropped black hair. “You can’t do this to me again, Spencer. If we’re going to do this you need to promise me no more drugs. I’ll help in any way I can, scenes, talking, whatever, but it has to come from you.”

 

“I’ll stop for good, Aaron. I’ll go to NA. I know where the meeting is. I’ll go.”

 

Hotch nodded, satisfied for now. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that this wasn’t the end but just the beginning of an uphill battle but it was enough for now. “God, Spencer, from that first session I’ve wanted you.” Hotch ran his hands over the young man’s skin again feeling it heat beneath his palms. He sucked a deep bruise onto Spencer’s collarbone just to hear him moan and beg. “Bedroom,” he stood and held out his hand for Spencer to follow him. Spencer stood eagerly, grinning broadly, which melted every last reservation Hotch had.

 

In the bedroom, Spencer shimmied out of the pyjama pants and stood unabashedly naked in front of Hotch who let his eyes wander over the pale flesh before him. Spencer’s cock jutted out proudly, pink and already leaking a drop of precome. “On the bed,” Hotch commanded and Spencer grinned again before leaning back against the pillows. Hotch stripped off his sweatpants and shirt, sliding his boxers off and standing back to allow Spencer the same opportunity to scrutinize. Hotch was compact, powerful strength where Spencer was lean muscle. He was thick dark hair where Spencer was a fair, light dusting. He watched as Spencer stared at his thick cock, dropping a hand to pump himself to full hardness and smirking as Spencer’s tongue darted out to lick suddenly dry lips.

 

Hotch stretched out on the bed and trailed his fingers over Spencer’s side until the younger man squirmed and let out a laugh. “You never told me you were ticklish,” Hotch grinned.

 

“I’m not! Definitely not!” Spencer protested as he gasped out a laugh and pushed at Hotch’s hands. He was still smiling as he pulled Hotch in for another kiss. Their lips met and parted, sharing breaths and languid swipes of the tongue until their legs entangled and their cocks brushed.

 

“I want to fuck you, Spencer,” Hotch growled into his ear and bit down into the soft skin beneath when he heard Spencer’s breathy yes. He rolled to the side to grab lubricant and a condom from the bedside drawer. When he looked back, Spencer had shoved a pillow under his hips and spread his legs. Hotch groaned at the sight and manoeuvred himself over the young man so that their cocks brushed together and he could press open mouthed kisses over Spencer’s heated skin. Sucking at a nipple, he slid his first finger in and watched as Spencer’s eyes slid closed in appreciation. The noises Spencer made were perfect as a second finger was added and Hotch twisted his hand to rub over that little nub.

 

“Please, Aaron, god please,” Spencer writhed, pushing down on Hotch’s ruthless fingers. Hotch removed his hand, sitting back on his heels at the end of the bed, and rolled the condom down over his cock, smearing lubricant while giving it a few tugs and groaning at the sight of Spencer spread on his bed, chest flushed, fingers twisted in the bed sheets, hair sticking to his forehead but his eyes were wide open and staring at Hotch with undisguised want.

 

Hotch settled Spencer’s legs over his shoulders and lined up his cock, pushing forwards until the head passed the tight muscles. His forearms tensed where he held Spencer’s thighs as he fought the urge to let go and fuck into the heat surrounding his cock. “Ok?” he growled and Spencer moaned affirmatively, reaching above his head to hold onto the headboard and thrusting down onto Hotch’s cock. A dark, animal noise was ripped from Hotch’s throat and he fell forward, palms framing Spencer’s head as he bent the young man nearly double beneath him. He thrust deep and hard watching Spencer’s body shift with every movement, hearing the bed frame slamming into the wall, smelling the pungent mix of sweat and sex that was already permeating the room. He looked down at his cock pushing into Reid’s body again and groaned. Perfect. He’d always been perfect, as Absalom or as Spencer. This could work.

 

“Yes,” Spencer murmured and Hotch looked back up to meet Spencer’s focused eyes even as his mouth hung open and his body shook, close to orgasm. “It’ll work.” Hotch nodded his agreement, glad he’d spoken aloud even if he hadn’t meant to, and moved back to take Spencer’s cock in his hand, working him to completion. Thick fluid spilled over his hand and Spencer’s stomach before Spencer’s legs slipped from his shoulder and Hotch dug blunt nails into the young man’s hips as his thrusts became violent and erratic until he felt his cock pulse, filling the condom. He let his weight fall to the side as he slipped from Spencer’s body and they shared soft kisses until their breathing evened. Hotch padded to the bathroom, knotted the condom and flung it in the trashcan before bringing back as washcloth to clean off his lover. When he slipped between the bed sheets and Spencer curled up around him his only thought was—perfect.


	2. Epilogue

“Your position pleases me, Absalom,” Hotch murmured as he stepped through the door of their regular room at The Castle. “I admit that I’ve missed you.”

 

Spencer said nothing from his kneeling position on the floor. The concrete floor bit into his bare knees and his arms were starting to feel the strain from being held tightly behind his back. Still, at Hotch’s deep baritone his cock started to fill, straining upwards. From behind the curtain of his hair, he tracked Hotch’s movement around the room. The older man removed his jacket and tie, rolled his sleeves up, and contemplated the wall of toys before selecting a wide wooden panel with a cut out design.

 

“Stand, Absalom.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer’s legs were slightly shaky from his prolonged kneeling position but he stood firmly in front of his master.

 

“I would like to paddle you today.” Hotch ran his hand over the thick wood before setting it aside. “Stay there. Do not move.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Hotch moved out of Spencer’s eye line, pleased that his lover’s head did not move at all, and finished undressing. He then sat on the sofa with his legs slightly apart.

 

“Come here, Absalom, lie across my legs.” Spencer’s eyes widened and darkened at the sight of Hotch’s naked form before he moved with alacrity to fulfil the request.

 

Hotch adjusted their position until he had enough room to swing his arm and Spencer cock was nestled between Hotch’s thighs. “We will start with ten strokes. You will not come until I permit it. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Hotch ran his bare hand over Spencer’s tight ass before reaching for the paddle and raising it high in the air. The paddle made a satisfyingly dull-sharp noise as it impacted the flesh.

 

“One,” Spencer voice was clear and perfect. Hotch strengthened the impact with each swing and he could feel the tension in Spencer’s body as he fought the urge to rut between Hotch’s thighs.

 

“Ten,” Spencer squeaked. He was shaking with the effort not to come.

 

“Very good, Absalom. Now, on your knees,” Spencer slid off Hotch’s lap and knelt, wincing and repositioning as his sore backside came into contact with his heels. Hotch lay back on the sofa, stretching his arms out on either side. “Suck my cock, Absalom.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer leaned forward and ran his tongue over Hotch’s plump head. The older man was achingly hard from the scene and the bitter taste of precome spread over Spencer’s tongue. Of course, he’d blown Hotch before but this wasn’t just Hotch. This was his master. This was in a scene. This was breathtakingly erotic. He licked and sucked and gagged on the cock in front of him until Hotch came with a dark curse and no warning down his throat. Spencer coughed slightly but swallowed, his eyes watering and his own cock desperate for touch.

 

Hotch’s thumb swiped a trail of his come from Spencer’s chin before Hotch raised it to his own mouth and sucked it off. “Beautiful, Absalom. You’ve done very well. Come here. Kneel above me.” Spencer moved to straddle Hotch’s thighs and the older man’s hand closed over his cock. Spencer’s eyes slid shut, he was balancing on a knife-edge but Hotch still hadn’t given him permission to come.

 

“No no, eyes open, Absalom. Look at me. I’m rewarding you. Look at me.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer locked eyes with his lover and silently begged him to let him come.

 

“Beautiful, Absalom. Perfect. Yes, that’s it. Yes, look at you. Perfect. Let go, Absalom, you can come.” Two more tugs and Spencer came hard over Hotch’s chest with a howl. Hotch ran a soothing hand down his back before moving them so that they were horizontal with Spencer on top. “Lick it off, Absalom.” Spencer bent his head and licked Hotch’s chest clean. They lay together dozing peacefully until Spencer’s phone rang in his pants and he groaned. Hotch’s hand shot out and he grabbed it from Spencer’s pocket and handed it to him. The younger man sat up but quickly winced and moved to stand instead. Hotch moved across the room and grabbed some soothing lotion to work into his lover’s skin, half listening to his conversation with JJ about the case. He smiled as he remembered finally meeting Spencer’s team last weekend at a team BBQ at JJ’s house. Spencer had been nervous but unmistakeably proud to have a plus one and Hotch had felt very at home with the team.

 

He heard Spencer’s goodbye and he walked over to embrace him. “Where now?” he asked and started to massage the lotion into Spencer’s ass.

 

The younger man groaned his appreciation. “Boston. The Reaper is back. I’m sorry. You’re stuck with laundry night.”

 

“I’ll survive,” Hotch grinned and kissed Spencer softly. “Come on, get dressed and I’ll drive you to the airstrip.”

 

“I love you,” Spencer murmured into Hotch’s lips.

 

“I know,” Hotch replied chuckling as he ducked when Spencer swatted at his head. “Love you too.”


End file.
